


A Swan's Song

by Eflauta



Category: Supernatural
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-26
Updated: 2014-11-26
Packaged: 2018-02-27 02:49:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2676167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eflauta/pseuds/Eflauta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Swan Song - from Sam's perspective</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Swan's Song

A cold, and brilliant light met Sam when he consented. One simple yes, and it flowed in like a river of liquid ice made from the heart of a star. Brighter than imagination, it seared through his veins past the rhythm of his heart, and seeped into the fibers of nerves all around. Like a shock, it raced - a sharp numbness, the loss of control, as every inch of his body was given over in use and sensation to another.  
Fingers moved, strong and steady - a curling grasp around air itself. Fabric pressed rough against his skin, digging in as floorboards beneath him supported a weight that was no longer his own. Air flowed in, hot by compare, chilled in its foray through his lungs as he heard his own voice, felt himself urgently for his brother’s name.  
“Dean!”  
Light dimmed all else, and yet sharpened the faint, repeated echo of his name. His name.  
“SAMMY”  
He had to fight - oh god. You fight him tooth and nail, you understand? Dean-  
He had to,  
He… 

Silver white washed over him. Deeper than the deepest cold and stronger than a tempest, it lulled his anger with the sheer force of his own, willing relaxation, calming, numbing… When he awoke, it was to a dimly lit room of familiar strangers - faces swimming in the yellow light as washed out memories floated unsteadily around him. He blinked. He tried to. He raised his hand. It didn’t move.  
“Sam.”  
The voice floated through him, from his body through his ears and finally the distance to himself, tucked away in the heart of his mind, cushioned by blinding coldness. Keep swingin, don’t give an inch. So he tried again - to unclench the hand that Lucifer had folded, to move the arm that he had tensed.  
“Come on.” It chimed like rusted bells, as it floated closer to him. “I can feel you, scratching away in there.” And scratch he did - scratch like Hell and back. Not an inch, not an inch, not a- “Look… I’ll take the gag off, okay?” A bargain, a chance. It caught his attention long enough for him to flinch against the blinding press of Lucifer’s mind. “You’ve got me all wrong, kiddo. I’m not the bad guy here.” Sweet, sweet words, like poisoned honey in the wounds along his soul, seeping deeper, feeding, lulling…  
NO.  
He fought like mad, writhing against the freezing light all around him. “I’m gonna rip you apart from the inside out.” It was the first control he’d had, the first words he’d truly spoken - like a breath of fresh air, he’d used his own voice, issued his threat. “Do you understand me?” But Lucifer just chided him, the chill deepening with persuasion as he twisted Sam’s face back into his own. Mock pity - blithe amusement. “Such anger… Young Skywalker.” And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he continued, his words wrapping around Sam’s mind with each sentence, slithering, jabbing, slipping into his thoughts. “Who are you really angry with? Me? Or that face in the mirror?”  
“I’m sure this is all a big joke to you, huh?”  
“Not at all. I’ve been waiting for you… for a long, long time. Come on Sam, you have to admit — you can feel it, right?”  
And he could. Like Lucifer went on to say, he could feel that raw power, coursing through his veins, he could feel the explosion just waiting for release, the vengeance just below the surface of it all. It was exhilarating, he was right, it felt better than a demon’s blood, better than an exorcism, better than knowing he held their tiny lives in his hand, because now he held them all. Or, Lucifer did.  
They were two halves of a whole, just like he said, two sides of the very same coin. Same past, same future, same present. Every aspect of his life, building to this moment - from the matching of his parents to the death of his mother, it all added up to this, to the Devil taking control, possessing his body, seducing his mind, sympathizing, empathizing, twisting, wrenching, polluting, replacing.  
“I’m inside your grapefruit, Sam. You can’t lie to me…That…family of yours… They were foster care — at best. I’m your real family.”  
“No.” He interrupted. “That’s not true.” Dean wasn’t his foster care, and he never had been. Dean was his brother.  
But Lucifer didn’t like that word, didn’t like that concept. His brothers were his poison, his downfall, his betrayer. So he pressed on, insisted. He knew the pain of love and of loss. He understood how it was to be rejected. All those times that Sam was called a freak, all those times that he’d been scorned - his own Father had said to kill him if he ever lived to meet his fate. He understood him.  
“It is. And you know it. All those times you ran away, you weren’t running from them. You were running towards me. This doesn’t have to be a bad thing, you know. I let Dean live, didn’t I? I want him to live. I’ll bring your folds back, too. I want you to be happy, Sam.”  
Disgusted, he spit back those honey-sweet promises. “I don’t want anything from you.” But the devil wouldn’t hear it, and countered that remark. “Really? Not even payback?”  
Like poison down his throat, it choked his words to halt, corking the building anger. With Lucifer’s guidance, he looked around the dim circle, aware once more of his surroundings. There was his old friend Doug, and Rachel, from high school - she’d said yes when he’d asked her to prom, and it had been one of the most normal and nerve-wracking nights of his life. Her dress had been lilac, if he remembered, but now, like the rest, her eyes were dark black. “Azazel’s gang.” Lucifer told him. “Watching you since you were a rugrat, jerking you around like a dog on a leash.” They’d always been there, from nearly the time he was born until the day he said yes. Watching over him, like guardian angels, but unlike his brother, Sam got demons instead. Black, twisted, vile, scarred - he saw their faces beneath the skin, beneath the humans that they wore. Every corrected math equation, every afternoon out in the park, every moment of that dance, had actually been with, with…  
Until now, Sam’s life had been nothing but layers of elaborate deception. Azazel’s lies and demon blood, the hunt for the murderer of his mother, the teachers and friends he had in his life, the role of his Father, the strength of his brother, the mission of Heaven, the goodness of angels, the hope of peace, the love of life, it was nothing but lies, lies, lies.  
And then there was Lucifer - his words ringing back. I will never lie to you, Sam. And how true it was - the others had lied, built walls and mazes, and jerked his life on a leash, but Lucifer, Lucifer was the treat, the reward for it all, the brilliant light and freedom and truth that he was supposed to embrace. After a lifetime of darkness, even a Fallen star was brighter than the daylight itself.

“I know how you feel about them.” His words interrupted the flood of memories, tethered him in the emotions. “Me too.” There was a frightening edge to that quiet voice. “So, what do you say you and I blow off a little steam?” And Sam found he had to agree. He had to agree, as the demon’s eyes went wider with fear, as they tried to step back, or to flee from the room. He had to agree as he felt Lucifer seal them in with a single thought and a shift in the air.  
Mr. Benson was first, a warm-up act for the others. Eyes wide with fear, groveling before them, he sputtered excuses as he was lifted from his feet, a single fist curled in front of the shirt that he wore. Silence, and a fist met his babbling words, as Sam inwardly flinched at the sight of the impact. That had been his teacher - his elementary school teacher. The one who had taught him the cursive for Q, and which state had the capitol Seattle - there was not reason to punch him like that… But then he saw it, beneath the human, beneath who he’d thought he had known, and he joined in this time, as the next blow was given, soaking up the sensation of his fist, against Mr. Benson’s gut.  
Some time later, he collapsed to the floor, bones broken, skin a marbled pattern of internal bleeding and fresh, spreading bruises. Halfway through, Sam had thought twice, remembered the human housing the demon and flung himself back from the beating at hand. Vainly, he’d attempted to stop him, straining to halt the fist as it came down, again and again and again. Horrified, he’d looked on, until his palm cupped the man’s forehead, and with a flash both soul and corruption burned into the sweet release of their death.  
His advisor at Stanford was chosen next, Mr. Morrison. His ribs cracked as he hit the wall, his skull as it split against the ceiling. Shattered bone sliced through skin as muscles tore and tendons snapped. Blood pooled around him as his scream echoed into the flash that was soul and sludge burning out.  
His last Lit. teacher from high school died in a scream of blood curdling light, and then all that was left were Rachel, and Doug.  
They were harder, it was true. Despite the resurgence of anger he felt, the frustration, the heartbreak, the absolute rage that boiled inside, these had still been his friends. But with each blooming bruise, each seeping cut, each shattered bone and weeping wound, he felt the satisfaction of long due revenge, of dealing the justice that was meant in his life. Never again would they lie to him. Never again would they guide his life. Never again would they harm him, or the ones that he loved. Never, never again.  
Grim satisfaction flowed through him as Lucifer smote the last demon, leaving a pile of bodies behind. “So… Are we having fun yet?”

~~~

It wasn’t fun, having the Devil share your body. It was unending light and unquenchable cold, and constant, unrelenting presence of the Father of Lies. Except that he would never lie, refused to lie, to Sam. Instead, Sam was witness to unrepentant cruelty, and unflinching domination - an arrogance so deep that to think any his equal would be blasphemy itself. All were below him - especially Michael. For him, Lucifer’s hate burned the brightest…

**Author's Note:**

> PS. I never did finish this, but hopefully I will someday.


End file.
